Ex Malum
by AbyssQueen
Summary: Matt died. It's my fault. And now it's my turn. -Contains Spoilers, Religious-ness, and Latin. Mello's death. One-Shot.-


**A/N: WHOA LONG AUTHOR'S NOTE DX**

**Something I wrote while on my trip... 7 hour car rides are perfect for chasing plot bunnies! (Probably because you're in a car... the poor bunny only has it's feet :/)**

**This contains a bit of religious-ness, which was kinda hard (...but not really...) to write since I'm not at all religious... I was raised a Jehovah's Witness but have decided to be an an Apatheist (which basically means that it doesn't matter whether or not a God or gods exist, you don't really care either way, and either way your beliefs/actions would not change.) ...so yeah I didn't really have much experience to go on.**

**Warning- This contains spoilerz! (why are you reading ffs if you havent finished the series anyway?) **

**Another warning (last one)- MELLO HAZ A CONSCIENCE IN THIS FIC! D:**

**A question for reviews (so they're not all sappy & tear-filled DX)... how religious do you guys think Matty is? 'Cause I think he'd be atheist ._. **

**The title is Latin, it means "From Evil". "Sanctus Espiritus, Servatis a periculum, Servatis a maleficum" means "Holy Spirit, Save us from danger, Save us from evil" (also Latin.)  
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**Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note. C'mon, people. This ish a FANfiction.**

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><p>"Matt... I never meant for you to get you killed... I'm sorry."<p>

My grip on the steering wheel tightened as my fists clenched, my knuckles bleaching white under my gloves, my nails digging into the soft, worn black leather.

Death had always been a possibility; a definite, a part of life; a part of the job.

Indeed, all of L's successors knew it. Maybe they hadn't ever actually thought about it, but they knew, subconsciously maybe.

The title of L wasn't a blessing, or a job, or an achievement.

It was a curse.

Being L meant living a life of solitude; forever alone, and a certain death.

I had wanted to protect the others from that suffering.

Sure, I still hated that twit Near, and I got lost in the rivalry, but originally I had wanted to protect the others from the dark side of justice.

And now I had pulled them down farther than justice ever could have.

And now my best friend was dead.

Matt was dead.

I dragged him into this; I might as well have been the one to pull the trigger.

I had killed him.

And soon it would be my turn.

I could feel it coming, the clock ticking. I could sense my time coming to an end.

Maybe it was just paranoia, but I felt it.

I was finite.

And I knew that when I died, I was going to Hell.

I wasn't deserving of Heaven.

I had accepted it, long ago. But how long ago could it have been? It was just four years ago that I left Wammy's, at age fifteen. And those four years were blood ridden.

I had lied, stolen, kidnapped, killed. Killed so many that I had lost count. I had both ordered killings and held the gun.

And worse- I had enjoyed it.

I loved it. I relished the fear in my victim's eyes, the blood splatters, the limp, lifeless bodies. I had a fascination with watching people die.

My soul was soaked in sin, my hands soaked in blood.

The blood of my enemies, of my accomplices, of anyone who stood in my way.

And now the blood of my best friend weighed on my conscience.

I was worse than Kira himself.

My ends didn't justify my means.

I set my jaw, a grimace where not that long ago a smile had rested, and steely, cold-hearted eyes replaced those that had long ago ridden themselves of their vain innocence.

_Please, _I prayed, one hand straying to the crucifix dangling from my neck, _let Matt go to Heaven. I'm the one who dragged him into all this. All the bad things he's done... are my fault. He did everything I asked, loyal to the end. He never questioned, just followed me as if he had a debt to pay. He cared for my wounds after the explosion, and I know he blames himself for what I've become. If anyone deserves to go to Heaven, it's him... Because he's gone through hell for me. I know I'm going to Hell, but if it's possible, just let him go to Heaven. Sanctus Espiritus, Servatis a periculum, Servatis a maleficum_._ Amen._

I let go of the cross, steering the truck toward a run-down church.

How ironic.

But I trusted God. I knew Matt would be taken care of.

I tensed as a sudden pain racked through my body, like a pang in my chest. Not the emotional kind, but a physical one, as if I had just been shot through the heart.

_Kira?_

A faint smile crested my lips. _So it is my time, then. And not a chocolate bar in sight. _

I almost felt my head hit the dashboard, heard the ghost of the screeching of tires and a loud crash. I was mildly aware of a jolt that threw my limp body against the back of the seat.

But I wasn't there.

I didn't see my life flash before my eyes, and I was thankful; I did not want to relive everything I had witnessed, everything I had done. I didn't see a tunnel, or a white light. I saw black, though I knew my eyes were wide open.

Grinning, I stepped forward into the black, clutching my rosary to my chest, the edges of the crucifix digging into my palm.

I was ready for whatever might come.

If I burned, I burned. I deserved it.

I wasn't afraid. Not of Death, nor Hell, nor the Devil himself.

And if Heaven took me in, or if it didn't, I would be content.


End file.
